


blossom

by dizzylevi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, cheek kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3687144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzylevi/pseuds/dizzylevi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco refuses to just sit still and watch after he sees a weird ass creepy dude roofie some stranger's drink.<br/>The bigger problem here is that the stranger turns out to be much cuter than he had anticipated. And he is also just a little bit drunk.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	blossom

**Author's Note:**

> ah, yes. my second one shot absolutely no one asked for.  
> no, but seriously, i kept getting ideas for this and i had to get it out of my mind. might as well post it, ya know.  
> i wanted this to be short (kinda) and fluffy (sorta), even though there's nothing fluffy about potential sexual harassment. but that part is not even one third of the story and nothing really bad happens, thanks to Marco (and Reiner).
> 
>  **warnings** :  
> 1\. beware if you're triggered by sexual harassment/assault. absolutely nothing bad happens to Jean, he's safe and sound, but there are mentions of those two things.  
> 2\. english is not my first language, but I tried my best. this is not beta'd because i have an exact amount of 0 friends in the fandom side of tumblr.
> 
> hope you like it!

Marco pushes his way through the dancing crowd, mumbling a continuous little mantra of "Sorrysorrysorrysorry i'm so sorry" as he bumps into people and literally throws himself at the last bar stool available, his legs threatning to give out from under him after having spent the last two hours dancing to shitty pop music.

He didn't even want to come to this club in the first place, having initially planned on spending his Friday night curled up in his bed watching True Detective. That is, before his friends, Reiner and Bertholdt, had burst into his apartment and insisted he came along. To be fair, he's actually having quite a lot of fun and he has yet to regret his decision. True Detective can wait.

He runs a hand through his damp hair and casually tugs the collar of his shirt, an attempt to look less like the sweaty mess he probably is - not like he cares, anyway, he isn't particularly interested in meeting anyone, though that did not stop a couple of guys from grinding on him on the dancefloor. And he may or may have not returned the favor to the ones he liked the most.

He signs at the bartender and almost has to yell over the counter at the girl to order a coke, trying to make himself heard over the loud music. She brings him his drink on a tall glass with a straw, which Marco starts to chew on immediately as the takes the first much-needed-sips. He turns around on his seat to face the dance floor and tries to spot his friends somewhere among the moving mass of bodies. Bertl is not easy to miss and a smile tugs at his lips when he catches sight of him towering above everyone, wiggling his arms in the air. Reiner is probably somewhere below, mixed with the crowd.

He turns around again and watches the wall of the bar across from him covered with shelves overflowing with half empty glass bottles and a big mirror with little white LEDs scattered over it that twinkle like stars. Marco watches his own reflection, straw firmly held between his teeth before letting his gaze wander to the couple sitting next to him talking animatedly, obviously not sober anymore. He looks down at the row of inebriated, happy people and briefly wishes he could be one of them. But he drove here, so no alcohol for Marco. He sulks and sucks on his straw until his eyes stop on a young male with mousy blond hair, scowling at his whisky. He looks so out of place it takes a moment for Marco to notice that there's an older guy sandwiched between the bar stools next to the boy, leaning way too much into his personal space. Even from a distance Marco can tell that it's what's making the blond uncomfortable.

He watches on, brows furrowed and mindlessly chewing his straw, trying to figure out what's the deal between those two. He can't hear what they're saying but it's mostly a one-sided conversation on the older man's part, who speaks with an ugly crooked grin and struggles to keep his balance. Marco wonders if they know each other but decides against it when the man leans in too far and brushes his lips against the boy's ear, earning him an abrupt push that almost spills his drink. Nope, definitely not friends.

Marco ponders if maybe he should go over to them, pretend like he knows the boy and drag him out of there because the scene is honestly making his insides squirm with suspicion. Then again, the man is probably one of those creeps that walk up to you out of nowhere and eventually leave when they understand you're clearly not interested.

The man, however, doesn't move an inch and the blond's expression only darkens with every passing minute.

It's only when the boy looks over his shoulder to look at something that Marco sees the creep slip something into his drink.

His eyes widen in desbelief but Marco doesn't even think twice before he's climbing down from his stool and stumbling in their direction as fast as he can. He really hopes he makes it in time when he puts a hand on the boy's a shoulder and aggressively throws himself between the man and the blond, effectively blocking the other man's sight.

"Heeeey, Armin," Marco exclaims in the most cheerful voice he can muster, "We're just leaving. You're comin', right?"

The blond is staring at him dumbfounded but Marco doesn't even wait for an answer before he practically hauls him out the seat and drags him away from the bar, praying to whatever god is listening that the man doesn't follow them. He figured this would be the best way to avoid a fight of any sort - just run and pray that the creep doesn't find them.

Marco only stops when they reach the opposite side of the club, and even then he looks around nervously to check if they're safe. They are, for now. Only then does he turn to the boy, who is staring at him with an expression he can't read.

"Hey, I'm sorry for that. Are you okay?"

The blond shakes his head, as if he's trying to get his thoughts together. He's obviously had a bit too much too drink.

"Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, I am."

"You didn't know that guy, right?"

The boy's brow wrinkles in a scowl and he looks at the drink he's still holding, "No, just some creep."

"I'd throw that drink away if I were you, then. He put something in there."

His head snaps up at Marco again, "Are you serious?" and whispers "Fucking hell" while the whisky is poured into a nearby vase.

"Are you sure you're okay, though? Do you need to get some air?"

"Y-yeah, that sounds good," He runs a hand through his hair, "Thanks for getting me out of there."

Marco shakes his head, "No problem," before turning to walk to the club's open terrace. 

The blond bumps into him and whispers an "Ouch" when Marco freezes in place after he sees who's standing in front of them.

The older man is downright _glaring_  at him, fists curled tightly. In fact, if looks could kill, Marco would be dead and buried by now.

He gulps and takes a step back, one arm thrown protectively in front of the boy who's also frozen behind him. It's not like he plans on taking this guy on.

_This is it_ , Marco thinks as the man starts walking dangerously fast towards them, pushing his way through the crowd, nostrils flaring, a murderous glare plastered to his face. It doesn't help that the club is filled with smoke and the flashing lights make it difficult to understand where exactly they are and where they could run to.

Marco keeps retreating, never breaking eye contact with him, until they crash into someone. Someone big.

He hears the blond gasp and feels him hold onto his arm, painfully so, before looking up and a small wave of relief washes over him. It's Reiner. Just Reiner.

He's looking down at them with a concerned look and a raised eyebrow, "You look like two scared little cats. What's the matter?"

The blond squeaks between Marco and Reiner and Marco squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. Reiner can be scary at first sight, it's a fact no one can deny.

Marco looks between Reiner and the man who's now 2 meters away from them and he doesn't have to say anything before Reiner tenses and promptly steps from behind them to place himself in front of them, facing the man, arms crossed over his chest threateningly.

Marco peeks around Reiner and let's out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he sees that the man has stopped dead in his tracks, murderous expression falling into one of alarm.

Reiner raises his eyebrows and cocks his hip, "Can I help you? Did ya want something from them?" His voice booms across the cramped space they're standing in, over the loud music Marco has completely filtered out of his ears by now. He's vaguely aware of some people staring.

The blond is now also half hiding, half peeking from behind Reiner's intimidating figure and it would have made for a entertaining sight wasn't it for the situation.

Marco sees the man's adam apple bob as he gulps and his skin shines under the flashing lights with a thin layer of sweat. It's barely audible when he stutters, "Uh, I-uh..."

Reiner takes a step forward and the man shrinks back, "You what? I'm listenin'."

Marco watches as the man's shoulders drop in defeat and his nostrils flare one last time at them before he storms away. Well, that was easy, though Marco feels like he could faint.

"What the hell was that? And who's this?" Reiner asks as he turns and gestures to the blond, who scoots just the tiniest bit closer to Marco. The mix of alcohol and intense emotions is probably not a good one.

"Oh, this is, uh...", Marco looks questioningly at the blond, realizing he still doesn't know his name.

He clears his throat before introducing himself, "My name is Jean."

"Jean! This is my friend Reiner and I'm Marco."

The blond - Jean - looks a bit more at ease at that.

Marco continues, "You are not gonna believe that guy, I saw him putting something in Jean's drink at the bar. I got him out of there but he just followed- H-hey!"

Marco is interrupted when Jean pretty much collapses against him and Marco has to hold him to keep him from falling. His eyes are half closed and his face looks a bit pale, though it's hard to tell in the dim light.

"Jean! Are you okay?"

"I'll tell you what, you take him outside and I'll make sure that dickhead gets kicked out of the club, yeah?" Reiner suggests.

Marco nods and works on getting one of Jean's arms over his shoulder so he can get him to some fresh air. The terrace is quiet when they get there, the air feels a bit chilly but it's nice against their overheated skins. There are little couches and beanbags scattered around, as well as lots of plants, illuminated by several bulb string lights hung above their heads. It's a nice contrast to the stuffed environment inside the club and Marco eases Jean onto one of the couches, who is slowly gaining control of his limbs again. He plops down next to him and his head falls back on the couch as he lets out a long drawn-out breath. Remembering the glass of coke he's still holding somehow, he pouts when he realizes it's empty, the rest of it probably spilled somewhere on the floor. He settles for chewing on the straw again.

Next to him, Jean whines, head held between his hands where he's hunched over his knees.

"Are you okay?" Marco asks softly, "Did you drink any of that whisky before I got to you?"

Jean shakes his hand weakly and Marco sighs in relief until he sees Jean's shoulders start to shake uncontrollably. Marco wonders if he's started to cry when he _hears_  him. He's laughing. Giggling.

"W-what did you call m-me?" Jean asks between giggles.

"What?"

Jean lifts his head and looks at Marco with barely contained laughter, "Armin, was it?"

"Oh, yeah, well, I didn't know your name..."

"What kind of name is that, even? Like, Armin," Jean continues as he casually extends his arm forward, "Armout," he says as he retreats his arm and repeats the motion, seemingly very intrigued by whatever is going through his mind at that.

Marco has to hold his breath to not laugh at him and bites hard on his straw.

"Actually, that's my friend's name..."

Jean stops mid-motion, wide eyes snapping to look at Marco, "Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

Marco shakes his head as a giggle fit finally takes over him, "It's o-okay. Oh god, that's actually pretty funny," Marco says as he repeats the movement with his free arm, "I gotta tell him about this some day."

Jean restarts doing it as well and just like that giggles turn into full-out, booming laughter. It shouldn't have been that funny. It really shouldn't, but they're both coming down from their adrenaline high so they laugh at the stupid joke until they're wiping away tears and sniffling.

After what feels like five minutes but was probably a minute, they finally manage to control their bubbling laughter.

Jean clears his throat, wiping away one last stray tear on his cheek, "No, but seriously," He tries to catch his breath, "Thank you for getting me out of there. I've had some pretty bad experiences caused by walking away from people like that son of a bitch so usually I just... Wait until they leave."

"Well, that one definitely wasn't that keen on leaving."

"Yeah, I don't even want to think what kind of bullshit you pulled me out of."

Jean runs a hand through his hair and Marco takes a moment to look at him. He's dressed in black pants and a white button down and after exactly 0.5 seconds of staring Marco decides he's attractive. Very much so, in fact, but he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Gee, what did that straw ever do to you?" Jean asks seemingly out of the blue until Marco realizes he's back to chewing his straw, the tip being nothing more than an extremely crinkly piece of plastic.

"Oh, just an old habit," Marco says as he places the glass with the straw on the floor next to his feet, "Are you here with anyone?"

Jean is lying back on the couch now, head thrown back as he stares at the night sky, "Nah," He sighs, "I had a really bad day and wanted to be alone but I ran out of alcohol back at home, so I came here by myself."

"'m sorry," Marco mumbles and Jean shrugs. Only a silent minute after does it occur to Marco that maybe Jean wants him to leave and he mentally facepalms himself for that. "Do you still want to be alone? I can leave now."

Jean turns his head at that and shoots him a soft, lopsided smile that makes Marco's breath stutter, "I'm not staying here for much longer... But you can stay for now," He shrugs, "If you want."

Marco returns the smile before looking up at the night sky. "Such a pretty night tonight, uh?"

He hears the smile on Jean's lips when he hums in agreement. "Everything is kind of spinning, though. The stars and all. You."

"Jean, just how drunk are you, exactly?" Marco chuckles.

"Enough. Feels good."

"How are you getting home? Not driving, I hope?"

"Yeah, no, I'm taking the night bus."

"The bus?" Marco lifts his head and asks, a bit too loud, making Jean jump next to him, one hand on his chest, "Night buses are kind of scary..."

Jean laughs, "They're not that bad, I'm used to them."

"Still, wouldn't it be better to call a taxi? It's almost 3 am."

"Taxis are expensive and I'm broke. Bus is good. Speaking of which, I should probably go so I can catch the last one."

"Oh, okay..." Marco feels a tinge of disappointment. They may have just met, but Marco feels oddly curious about Jean. Why did he have a bad day? How bad was it that he felt the need to come to a bar to get drunk on his own? He seems pretty okay now, but maybe it's just the alcohol talking. Either way, he wouldn't mind spending the rest of the night talking to him. If only there were no such things as creeps with second intentions, or if they had met at some other place, under different circumstances, Marco would offer him a ride and maybe ask him out for coffee because, _god_ , he's handsome and blond and all sharp features and svelte body and smoky voice and apparently Marco has a soft spot for all those things.

Jean stands up and stretches, causing him to lose his balance momentarily. He steadies himself, though, and Marco shakes away his thoughts as he stands up as well.

Jean turns to him, one hand scratching the back of his neck, "Well, uh, thanks again for that, earlier," He says as he gestures toward the inside of the club and he's smiling when he looks at Marco, who returns the smile.

Marco waves it off, "It was nothing, I'm just glad nothing bad really happened." He offers his hand for Jean to shake and his skin feels warm and velvety against Marco's own. They hold it for a little longer than necessary but Marco can't bring himself to care.

_I'd really like to see you again_ , he thinks.

"You know, you should take my number. J-just in case something happens with the bus, yeah?" It's out before he can stop it and Marco clamps his mouth shut, really hoping he didn't cross the line with that one.

Jean's face lights up, "Nothing's gonna happen, Marco," but he pulls his phone out of the back pocket of his pants anyway, "But shoot."

When he's done saving Marco's number, he pockets the phone again and grins, "Well, I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Alright, be safe," Marco says, burying one hand in his pant pocket and giving a tiny wave with the other as he watches Jean turn around and walk back inside the club. He doesn't miss the way Jean's step wavers just slightly but other than that, he doesn't look overly intoxicated.

He withers visibly when Jean is out of sight and lets himself plop onto the couch again.

_At least he has my number_ , he thinks hopelessly as he slumps even further on the couch.

Two minutes later, Reiner is walking out into the terrace and Marco startles when he asks, "Where'd he go?"

"Uh? Oh, he just left," Marco shrugs.

"You didn't offer him a ride or something?" Reiner sits next to him and gives a low chuckle, "I know that face, Marco, you thought he was cute, didn't ya?"

"Well, what if I did? He just got out of a possible sexual assault... Didn't feel right to act on it, you know?"

Reiner hums in agreement, "Shame," he sighs.

"How did it go with the prick, by the way? Did you get him kicked out?"

"Better than that," Reiner replies with a triumphant grin, "Bertl knows one of the club's security guards and they got him locked up in some backroom. The surveillance footage is being replayed as we speak. He's getting his ass kicked into prison, I'm pretty sure."

Marco sighs in relief, "That's good. That's very good," especially because he hadn't even considered the possibility of having the man waiting outside for them when he let Jean go.

Bertholdt joins them on the terrace and stands behind the couch, hands coming to rest softly on Reiner's shoulders. He squeezes them before he speaks, "I think that was enough emotion for one night. Wanna head out?"

Reiner tilts his head back until he's looking at Bertl upside down, "That's a good idea."

Bertl looks over at Marco, who's absent-mindedly staring at his feet, "Marco? We're leaving. You coming?"

Marco snaps out of his thoughts, nods and stands, Reiner following suit.

They walk inside and Bertl exchanges a few last words with his security guard friend before they're out of the club for good.

"Your car is up the street, right? Ours is just a block down. Are you good? You seem a bit out of it." Bertholdt asks.

Marco looks at them both, pinky fingers laced, and smiles, "I'm good, don't worry. Have a good night you two, yeah? And thanks for bringing me along."

"I'll call you some time this week," Reiner calls over his shoulder, "See ya, Marco!"

Marco waves at them before he walks to his car.

He gets into the driver's seat with a long sigh, the one and only thing on his mind being _Jean was so unbelievably cute, why why why_.

He tries to clear his head and digs his phone out of his pocket. He's about to throw it onto the empty passenger's seat when it vibrates in his hand, alerting him to one new message from an unknown number. His first thought is that that's Jean's number, it's _got_  to be Jean's number, and something _really_  bad happened to him, so he aggressively unlocks his phone to read the message.

 

**From: Unknown //3:27 am**

so i gt on the wrong bus i cant believe this shi t

i dont even know where i am fuck

i do nt even know why im texting you im am so pissed

ignore this imma call a t taxi

 

Marco almost drops his phone in his haste to reply.

 

**To: Unknown //3:28am**

No no no. I can pick you up if you tell me where you are.

 

**From: Unknown //3:30am**

ni this is stupid do not come

 

**To: Unknown //3:31am**

Taxis are expensive, take time to get to you and you're apparently drunker than I thought.

No way I'm just gonna leave you there.

Tell me where you are. Please.

 

**From: Unknown //3:33am**

ugh okay okay leg me check

 

Marco takes the opportunity to save his number and tells himself that _Jean is drunk and lost somewhere_  in order to try and subside the grin threatning to show on his lips at the thought of seeing Jean again.

 

**From: Jean //3:36am**

okay im at the rose plaza

yu know where that is?

 

**To: Jean //3:37am**

There in 5.

 

**From: Jean //3:37am**

what

oh nvm

i swear im not that drunk

okay maybe jusr a bit

 

Marco doesn't waste any more time before he throws the phone onto the passenger's seat and speeds through the city. He's got a vague idea where the plaza is, a small thing located right in the center of the old part of town, known by its well kept little garden and a huge, ancient chestnut tree. At a stoplight, he briefly wonders why he doesn't visit that part of town more often.

Sure enough, five minutes after, he's driving down one of the streets that leads to the plaza. When he gets there, he rolls down his window and lets the cool night air fill his car. It's eerily quiet outside and less than a handful of streetlamps light the street. Marco panics just the tiniest bit when he circles the plaza and sees no signs of Jean. Either he got the name of the plaza wrong or something happened to him. Marco gulps when he passes an empty night bus stop and circles the plaza once again. Still no Jean.

He stops his car by the sidewalk and grabs his phone.

 

**To: Jean //3:46**

I'm here. Where are you?

 

He steps out of the car, determined to seek Jean while he waits for a reply. He looks around expectantly and is just about to enter the little garden when someone stumbles from between the tall bushes, startling him. He relaxes when he realizes it's the man he's looking for and not a serial killer.

"J-Jean! You scared me!"

"Marco! Marco, I'm so sorry," he says as he walks up to the brunet, who holds his breath when Jean places both his hands on his shoulders and squeezes them, "I just wanted a flower. And I'm sorry for this whole thing, the bus and all."

Marco notices a small rose tucked in Jean's shirt breastpocket and finds it adorable how he had the sudden urge to pick a flower in his drunken state.

"It's okay, Jean, really. Lets go now, yeah?" Marco says with a soft smile as he tugs on Jean's forearm.

Jean returns the smile and hums, following Marco to the car.

Once they're inside, Marco turns to him and asks "So, where do you live, exactly?"

Jean's mouth opens for a second before he clamps it shut, furrowing his eyebrows. Marco is about to ask in disbelief if he's forgotten but Jean holds up his finger and procceeds to dig out his phone from a pocket inside his jacket.

"I swear I didn't forget because of the alcohol," he says as he taps away on his phone, "I just moved in recently and I can never remember the name of the damn king..."

In the meantime, Marco unabashedly admires his profile, dimly lit by the phone. He regrets once again having met him under such awful circumstances because he finds Jean to be absurdly breathtaking.

"Ah-ah here it is, uh, Queen Reiss," Jean's eyes rise to meet Marco's and the brunet tries his best not look like he had been staring.

He gives himself away when he sputters, though, "Uh, um, y-yeah. Okay."

"You know how to get there?"

"Mm, I can use my phone's GPS," Marco replies, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

"Queen Reiss Avenue," Jean whispers helpfully when he sees Marco opening the app and typing the address.

They both jump about a foot in the air when the voice navigation pierces the quiet, screaming the first instructions, "FIVE HUNDRED METERS AHEAD, turn right a...." and Marco rushes to lower the volume until it's mute, murmuring an apology. Jean is clutching his chest next to him and Marco snorts at his startled face, until Jean makes a face at him, causing them both to start cackling for a good minute.

Marco shoves his phone into Jean's hands, "C'mon, I've had enough of shrilling voices for today. Be my co-pilot."

Jean hums, adjusts himself on his seat when Marco starts the car and they're finally on their way.

 

\--

 

After having taken at least three wrong turns on Jean's account - which had him cursing and apologizing profusely and Marco shaking his head in amused disbelief - they get to Jean's street fifteen minutes later.

Jean tells him to stop in front of a small house with yellow walls and a red door, which Marco finds incredibly endearing.

"Well, we made it," Marco sighs and smiles at Jean.

Jean hands him his phone with one hand and Marco notices he's holding the rose he picked earlier in his other hand, spinning the stem between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Mm, yeah. Thanks again and I'm really sorry for all the trouble," Jean says, staring at his lap where he fiddles with the flower.

"It's really okay, Jean. I'm just glad you're okay."

Jean looks up at that and next thing Marco knows, the blond's holding out the rose for him to take, the pretty tone of his cheeks matching the deep pink of the flower.

Marco feels his face and ears heat up as well but he takes flower and stares at it, dumbfounded, not really sure what to say. It only gets worse when Jean leans toward him and plants an adorable little kiss on his cheek. Marco feels like he might just combust at this point. When Jean pulls away, his cheeks are deep red and he's biting his bottom lip but Marco is still staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to force words out of his mouth, his own face burning.

"I'll see you around, yeah?" Marco nods quickly, eyes wide, and that's the last thing Jean says before he's opening the door, climbing out of the car and shutting the door.

Marco's eyes flit between the rose in his hand and Jean walking towards the little house. He sees him fumbling with the keys and when he finally gets the front door open, he turns around and gives Marco a tiny wave. Marco answers it with one of his own, with the hand holding the rose, and just like that, Jean enters the house.

Marco nearly _squeaks_  with happiness then, but catches himself and takes a deep, shaky breath. What just happened could be the alcohol talking. It could be that and the strange mix of strong emotions. Or it could have been none of that and Jean actually thinks he's cute and felt like kissing his cheek as a way of saying thanks. Or something. And the pink rose...

Marco shakes his head and tucks the flower in his own breast pocket, smiling down at it. It has not fully blossomed yet.

What he really needs now is to focus on getting home and get in bed. It's been a long night.

 

\--

 

Sunlight hits him square in the face when he wakes up, and that tells him it's past midday, since the sun doesn't hit his bedroom before that.

He groans and stretches lazily in bed, the sheets tagled around his bare legs.

He looks over to his bedside table to check the time on his phone but a glass filled with water and a pink rose inside it catches his attention, the sun reflecting prettily on the glass. 

Marco beams when he remembers the previous night and wonders how Jean is doing this morning. Probably hungover.

He ponders if he should text Jean while he showers and then while cooking his brunch, though he doesn't want to come off as creepy.

After switching between _I'm texting him_  and _There's **no** way I'm texting him, what is wrong with me_ for about an hour and a half while doing chores around the house, his doubts come to a halt when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

His heart stops for a second when he sees who sent it.

 

**From: Jean //2:53pm**

listen now that im sober let me apologize one last time for last night

i swear its my last apology

 

**To: Jean //2:55pm**

Like I said, it's okay :)

How are you today? Not too hungover, I hope?

 

All that stressing while Marco was doing laundry was, apparently, for nothing. Though he wonders if he's sorry about the kiss and the rose.

 

**From: Jean //3:01pm**

could be worse. i should be fine in a few hours

speaking of which, are you free tonight?

im not really sorry about the kiss nor the rose btw

 

He's not sorry. Oh god. Marco bites his knuckles.

 

**To: Jean //3:02pm**

I think I'm free, yeah. Why do you ask?

 

**From: Jean //3:10pm**

just wondering if maybe i could take you out for dinner

maybe because its a good way to thank you

maybe because youre pretty

nice. pretty nice.

i mean youre pretty too dont take me wrong but

 

Marco stops him mid ramble, he's blushing enough already.

 

**To: Jean //3:11pm**

I'd love dinner!

What time?

 

**From: Jean //3:12pm**

oh

how does 8 sound?

 

**To: Jean //3:12pm**

Perfect :)

 

\--

 

Later, much later that night, when Marco enters his room, cheeks still a bit warm after having Jean drop him off at home, he's happy to see the pink rose has started to blossom. And it's beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you dont consider this a waste of your time, god *sweats*  
> feedback is much appreciated, seriously, i will love you to the moon and back  
> you can leave it here or on my [tumblr](http://dizzylevi.tumblr.com)


End file.
